Sorry this has taken a while to post, but life has been very hectic lately. I hope you enjoy this next chapter with a bit of background for what's to come.
Pierre both loved and hated politics. When he was a young boy, he'd spend many an hour curled up in his father's office listening to both Wizard and Muggle alike, as they'd openly curry for the favor of Aymard Louis-Alphonse. His father was a stern man: uncompromising and fiercely intelligent. He also had a dark streak that was kept well hidden from friend and foe, and for all the public ways in which the Alphonse family encouraged a veneer of tolerance towards Muggle culture, his father and those of the Alphonse ancestry, understood that to obtain and retain power, it was vital to play both sides of the proverbial fence.
Something Pierre did with ease.
As an Alphonse, he'd been quite popular within his circle at Beauxbatons, attracting attention wherever he went. Wizard's in French Pureblood circles, adored Pierre for his magical prowess and dedication to tradition. The Muggle aristocracy, at least what was left of it within his home country, gravitated towards the Alphonse Heir for his good humor and witty turn of phrase. Women, both magical and not; flocked to his good looks, wealth and charm.
Angelique had been the only witch who'd noticed none of those qualities.
No, she'd ignored him for the first few years of their acquaintance, purposefully entertaining those within his immediate circle of friends, but barely speaking more than a sentence or two in his general direction.
He'd been intrigued…
Then smitten…
Eventually he'd fallen head over heels, and began his active pursuit with relish.
It was only later, he'd discovered his devious witch's plan.
She'd fancied him too, but figured out quite early on that a wizard of Pierre's nature, would prefer to be the chaser, and in that supposition she hadn't been wrong. He'd fallen for her beauty, wit and intelligence—only to learn much later about Angelique's clever and devious side.
And he'd loved her all the more for it.
She'd encouraged his propensity for subterfuge, and had allowed him freedom to come to her as needed, whilst he'd plotted and planned. It wasn't until Hermione had been born, that his wife shared the particulars of her family history.
When he'd been told, his initial reaction was laden with heavy skepticism, even though he'd been cursorily aware of the Ardante and it's possible origins. But similarly to the Deathly Hallows, he'd believed the myth to be nothing more than fanciful storytelling designed to intrigue, much like that of French Veela history.
How quickly he'd been summarily disabused of that notion.
Now as he stood near the edge of Angelique's heavily warded ancestral home, located just north of the Forest of Troncais and adjacent to the River Sologne, he gazed downhill at the Commune de Cerilly which only housed about one-thousand Muggles, and sighed heavily.
There were no other magical homes within the region, and with good reason.
Turning back towards the direction he was initially planning, his sharp gaze swept over the landscape with fond remembrance. He could almost hear Angelique's sweet laughter and smell her fragrant perfume, that reminded him of their Hermione—a small token shared between mother and daughter.
Crossing the boundary, he immediately felt the wards shifting in recognition. He kept his gait sure and fluid, walking down the cobbled lane which led to the outer boundary of the deeper forest that laid within.
He'd not brought Hermione here, not in all the years since Angelique had passed. He knew that his wife had come here only thrice over the years they were together. Once to introduce him to her family, once on the day of their marriage to add his magical signature to the wards, and a month after Hermione was born, to add her blood to the wards.
The wind began to rustle through the leaves of the ancient forest, which had been protected for nearly a thousand years. When he came to the river, he could hear the faint echoing of song, the sound both haunting and irresistible.
It was another ten minutes before he found the source, and his expression lifted when his clear blue gaze met the bright amber of Niniane, who's aura radiated light like nothing he'd ever seen. Even all these years later, it still took him aback.
"Ah, Pierre."
Niniane's musical voice was almost siren-like. It captured and ensnared, until you were helpless against its pull.
"My Lady."
Her lips lifted into a ghost of a smile, even as she waved her hand welcoming him to her home.
"It's been a while, Pierre. What can I do for you?"
He followed her silent footsteps, her gait like water on the ground. As his eyes lowered, he couldn't help but grin as Niniane's feet left no visible imprint amongst the rich soil.
"Hermione's home."
"I know," she responded easily, "but that alone is not the sole reason you've sought me out, yes?"
"Of course," he chuckled lightly, "you knew I'd come."
He didn't form it as a question, and from the amused look Niniane sent his way, Pierre was fairly certain she hadn't missed his not-so-veiled attempt at humor.
"Mortal wit, the subtext escapes me, I'm afraid. You're here because dear Hermione has discovered the truth of her heritage, and you have more questions."
"I do."
She stopped just before a small copse of trees and then waved her hand…the trees parting at her silent call. Inside the lush glade was a beautiful dwelling that melded perfectly within the forest itself. The small home glimmered with warmth and sunlight, even on a mostly cloudy day. It was as if the sun shone in the singular spot where the house resided.
He followed Niniane inside, and wasn't too surprised to see a few of her kin wandering around, gathering the proper accoutrements for tea. It was the one social nicety that Niniane had adopted over these many years.
The three small house elves were more like family than servants. They even looked different than the house elves he'd seen at Malfoy Manor. The Alphonse family had never deigned to use magical creatures as servants, and this was primarily due to straddling both the Muggle and Magical worlds simultaneously. It wouldn't do to out their magical heritage, especially when the Statute of Secrecy strictly forbade it.
He took the proffered tea with a simple nod of thanks and smiled softly when Niniane thanked her kin.
"I've always wondered just how their kind came to be."
Niniane tilted her head, her gaze far too intuitive but after a moment she responded with, "I suppose the time has come at last to speak of certain things, however I'm also fairly certain you've surmised some of the truth, yes?"
"Some," Pierre admitted, "and I did share a bit with Hermione."
"And how did she take learning of her family heritage?"
"Surprised, but as usual she handled it with the upmost grace and acceptance."
"I'm surprised you didn't bring her here today."
Pierre sighed before taking another sip of his tea, which tasted of hibiscus, lavender and rose. He settled the cup within the saucer effortlessly and said, "I wanted to speak with you first."
"So, Hermione has found her mates?"
"She has."
"The child, Harry Potter—he is the Heir of the House of Elendil, as I'm sure you've guessed."
"I did, and Draco Malfoy?"
"The descendent of the Blue Wizard, Morinehtar. He traveled to the East of Arda in the First Age, to fight the will of Sauron. He and his brother Alatar, were favored of Yavanna and Manwe—and were sent at the behest of my Mother to travel to the lands of Mordor. Morinehtar returned near the end of the First Age, but Alatar fell to the wrath of flame and fire."
"Why were you sent here?"
Niniane's deep amber eyes glistened, and in that moment Pierre felt he was gazing into his daughter's eyes—the look however, was all-knowing.
"My Mother had several visions of what was to come. She foresaw the Great War and first defeat of Sauron, the creation of the one ring, the kinslaying atrocities of the elves and Morgoth's killing of Finwe. It was also during these dark times that she had another vision but this time it was of this world—the rise of men and the atrocities that would follow. Much like the Fellowship that you know of, it was based in truth of the gathering of those who ventured beyond the Veil into this world. I tarried with Anarion, the younger brother of Isildur. Morinehtar followed, as well as Dwain, the second son of Durin—who was the first ruler of the Dwarves of Khazad-Dum. The remaining of our party were Felaróf, one of the Mearas as you know; Whylimin, who is an Ent and one of the small folk from outside the Shire."
Pierre thought of what he'd remembered reading in Tolkien's books and asked, "Morinehtar, Felaróf and Whylimin would still be alive in this time, yes?"
Niniane laughed, the sound bright and musical.
"You always were quite clever, Pierre—but, yes…to answer your question. Morinehtar, was also known to some as Merlin."
Pierre's eyes widened in awe, even as he choked out, "Excuse me?"
"Yes, I've always found the legends of Merlin to be most amusing."
Shaking his head, he had no direct comment to offer asking instead, "And Felaróf?"
"He lives with his progeny the Centaurs, within the Darkened Forest. Their gift to read the stars comes from him."
"And Whylimin?"
"Ah yes, I do believe she is known as the Whomping Willow."
"The one at Hogwarts?"
"The very one."
"I did not know of her existence from Angelique. She shared with me about the enjoining occurring from long ago but now I have to wonder, just how long have you been here in this world, My Lady?"
Niniane sighed, her gaze clouding briefly before she answered, her voice slightly subdued, "We ventured through the Veil nearly three thousand years ago, Pierre. The original enjoining occurred with myself, Morinehtar and Anarion. I gave birth to three children and each has followed the path predestined for them. Fifteen centuries ago, during the age of what you've known as Merlin, his descendent perished before the enjoining could take place. He chose to renew the magical bonds with Morgana and Arthur Pendragon."
Pierre's eyes widened comically, as he hadn't known any of this information either.
"Morgana?"
"Descended from the Eldar line."
"So, Hermione?"
"Yes, she is Morgana's daughter as Morgana is descended from me. She was a tremendous healer, and had the true light of the Eldar within her. I have never understood how history has corrupted her name as such, but such machinations of men and myth escape me. Harry Potter as I'm sure you're aware by now, is the descendent of Arthur Pendragon, whom of course, was the most noted King of this world."
"Did Angelique know of these truths?"
"Of course she did, Pierre. She was pragmatic until the end, and as much as she loved you—she also fretted greatly about the burden she was placing upon you and Hermione."
"Do you know who killed her?"
"You've never sought me out to ask this of me, so why are you asking now?"
"Because, I feel as if there's something profound I'm missing."
"And if I told you there was?"
Pierre sat back and frowned at Niniane's words, even if he wasn't exactly surprised by them. He knew there was a larger piece of the puzzle he was missing and had been for years, but he couldn't fathom what that something was. When he made eye contact with Niniane, she seemed contemplative, but unsurprised by the segue their conversation had taken.
"You can't tell me more, can you?"
"I have said all I can, Pierre. The truth is rarely straightforward and yet hindsight shows us often that it was always within reach if we just opened our minds to the unknown. You've spent these many years trying to protect Hermione from her birthright, yet you failed to remember the fundamental truth of magic."
"And that is?"
"For what your people would call magic, I believe."
Pierre clearly didn't understand Niniane's words, but she didn't expound on them either. She just stood up and said, "It is time for you to sojourn back whence you came, Pierre. We will not see each other again until five houses align in the heavens."
He stood and bowed, understanding that he was being politely dismissed and not wishing to overstay his welcome, he stated, "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, My Lady."
"Be well, Pierre."
He watched as Niniane moved effortlessly from the room, and a slight popping sound to his left, noted that one of the elves had come to lead him back to the way he'd come.
Once he finally found himself back home, he went to his study and downed a glass of firewhiskey, his mind replaying all the things he'd learned today. He had to wonder just what to share with Hermione, but he knew it was a conversation that needed to happen. For better or worse, he couldn't deny the fact that his Angel was a grown woman, with a mind and heart of her own. The choices he'd made as a consequence of losing Angelique, he'd done so only with Hermione's safety in mind. Now he had to wonder if it really had been his choice after all. His daughter was destined for two wizards, one he would've welcomed under any circumstance and the other, he still had a hard time acknowledging and wasn't sure if that would ever change.
It would seem he'd have to put his own feelings aside in this one instance, even if it grated on him to do so.